my fault if I don't," said Lovibond. "I'm not one of the
wise asses that talk big about God's law and man's law; and if I were,
man's law has tied this sweet little woman to a brute, and God's law
draws her to me--that's all."

"And she's willing, eh?" said Davy.

"Give her time, Capt'n," said Lovibond.

"But didn't you say she was loving this--this brute of a husband?" said
Davy.

"Time, Capt'n, time," said Lovibond. "That will mend with time."

"And, manewhile, she's tellin' you all her secrets."

"I leave you to judge, Capt'n."

"After dark, you say--that's middling tidy to begin with, eh, mate--eh?"

Lovibond laughed: Capt'n Davy laughed. They laughed together.

Willie Quarrie, standing by the boat at the bottom of the steps, with
the luggage piled up at the bow, shouted that there was not a minute to
spare. The throbbing of the steam in the funnel had ceased, one of the
two gangways had been run ashore, and the captain was on the bridge.

"Now, then, Capt'n," cried Willie.

But Davy did not hear. He was watching Lovibond's face with eyes of
suspicion. Was the man fooling him? Did he know the secret?

"Good-by Capt'n," said Lovibond, taking Davy by the hand.

"Good-by, mate," said Davy, absently.

"Good luck to you and a second fortune," said Lovibond.

"Damn the fortune," said Davy, under his breath.

Then there was another whistle from the "Snaefell."

"Capt'n Davy! Capt'n Davy!" cried Willie Quarrie.

"Coming," answered Davy. But still he stood at the top of the ferry
steps, holding Lovibond's hand, and looking into his face.

Then there came a loud voice from the bridge of the steamer--"Steam up!"

"Capt'n! Capt'n!" cried Willie from the bottom of the steps.

Davy dropped Lovibond's hand and turned to look across the harbor. "Too
late," he said quietly.

"Not if you'll come quick, Capt'n. See, the last gangway is up yet,"
cried Willie.

"Too late," repeated Davy, more loudly.

"Just time to do it by the skin of your teeth, Capt'n," shouted the
ferryman.

"Too late, I tell you," thundered Davy, sternly.

Meanwhile there was a great commotion on the other side of the harbor.

"Out of the way there!" "All ashore!" "Ready?" "Ready!" "Steam
up--slow!" The last bell rang. The first stroke of nine was struck by
the clock of the tower; one echoing blast came from the steam whistle,
and the "Snaefell" began to move slowly from the quay. Then there were
shouts from the deck and adieus from